One Day
by Acerbitas
Summary: Hughes needed Roy to pull through for him, even though it was just for one day. RoyxHughes, HughesxGracia


For Ali

…Haven't you people ever heard of  
Closing the god damn door?  
No, it's best to face these kinds of things  
With a sense of poise and rationality.

Well, in fact, well I'll look at it this way,  
I mean technically our marriage is saved  
Well this calls for a toast so pour the champagne.  
- I Write Sins Not Tragedies, Panic! At The Disco

**One Day**

"I can't get it off the floor." Roy stood in the center of his cluttered little apartment, looking like he was blind man in the middle of a strange desert. "The circles won't come off the floor. Reminders, Maes. Reminders of my errors. Reminders of everything I've done wrong in life. Haunting me, calling me—"

"Stick with me today, Roy!" Hughes' fingers reached through Roy's hair, and he held his friend's head locked in a grip. He knew that really he was holding onto something balancing on the edge. "Today is my day. Please be okay on my day." A whisper and it would fall. His fingers detangled themselves from the other man's hair, and he winced as the look on Roy's face changed from longing to despair.

He was desperate for his friend to pull through for him. He had been making attempts at normalcy around Roy for months now, and as they had repeatedly failed he had spent the remaining time picking up the broken pieces he had inadvertently created. Just one day Roy. One day for me.

"Of course, Maes. Your day." Roy smiled a strange smile and reached for the neck of his suit. "Do you have an extra bowtie? I seem to have lost mine."

"No, I don't." Maes shut his eyes tightly, knowing that any loss of control on his part would ruin everything. "Where do you think you left it?"

"Probably my bed."

"You were sleeping in your suit?"

"Yeah. I got tired." Roy shrugged and ambled into his bedroom. No wonder he looked so disheveled, and for a moment Hughes had to force himself to feel pity. Not even bothering to keep himself clean for his best friend's wedding. There was a rustling of bed sheets. "…I found it."

"Good. Do you need anything else?" Hughes tried to straighten the mess that was Roy's once pristine desk. Scrawled notes about transmutation Hughes didn't understand, a blotted out note that he realized with a jolt was yet another suicide letter, and some ancient pictures of Roy actually smiling, his arm loose around Hughes' neck. God. Please, please get over me Roy. This is getting to be more than I can take.

Hughes tossed the note into the trash with a grimace.

"No, don't, I'll clean it up—later." Roy's bowtie was tilted wrong. He saw that the work had already been done, and he looked away towards the window.

Hughes knew his friend was excepting another lecture, or a punch, or worse, an attempt at reason. But Hughes really couldn't deal with a fight today, especially a fight that consisted only of mumbled apologies from the other party. "Let's go, Gracia is waiting for me." Roy would have to deal with the excitement in his voice. After all, he was the one who was supposed to be helping Hughes get through some kind of internal conflict today. Luckily the only internal conflict going on had nothing to do with his fiancé.

No, it did. But it wasn't her fault at all. Hughes straightened the bowtie and muffled a sigh. "Come on, best man! Let's head off to the wine and the wife." He slapped Roy on the back jovially. "But especially the wine."

His humor was lost on the other soldier, who laughed hollowly and tried to smile. You're trying your best, Hughes told himself, and it's not your fault. It's really not your fault.

But his self-assurances were hard to believe, because, he thought dismally, he probably was just not trying hard enough. Roy looked on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, yeah, the wine!" Roy said far too late, voice shaky. "Good one."

Yet Roy was definitely drinking more than his fair share of wine. "Congratulations, Gracia!" He took her hand and kissed it, smiling that classic Roy smile that Hughes only saw him use around girls. "I'm sure many girls are quite jealous of you today. Your husband is very attractive to the opposite gender. Can you keep him in check?"

Gracia laughed, hand held lightly over her mouth. She eyed Hughes, amusement shining in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure. He follows me around like a puppy. Don't you, honey?"

Oh Roy, please just shut up. Hughes grinned like everything was okay and said something affirmative. All okay. Right swell. Dandy. Gracia looked at him, mild amusement tickling the corners of her lips at his face. She knew his grin was fake, but she didn't know why. She definitely wasn't aware of the seriousness of the situation.

"Maes is a great man. I'm sure you'll be very happy with him. You know, in the military, Maes and I were very close." Roy downed his new wine glass in a single gulp. "There was this one time in boot camp—"

"—We're going to go talk about those old times!" Hughes butted in abruptly, swinging his hand over Roy's shoulders and forcing him to move in the direction he was going.

The party guests watched them leave with some confusion.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hughes wheeled on a rather stunned Roy after shutting the door of his dressing room. "I know it all sounds quite fine to everybody else, but that is a really low way of telling me how you feel! Why can't you just say things directly!"Hughes clutched his hair, teeth grating against each other. "I can't take this. This is my wedding, Roy!" He stared into the mirror, noting vaguely that he looked like hell. "I'm trying so hard to look out for you. I come see you _all the time._ All I want is one day for me!"

There was a long silence. "I'm sorry." Roy whispered, shaking slightly, breathing erratic. "Please don't be angry with me." It seriously looked like he had forgotten he was holding his glass.

"You're just saying that because you don't want me to stay angry and leave you!" Hughes stomped towards the other man, yanked the glass from his frozen fingers, and set it the table beside him. "You were going to drop it."

Roy's tensed into that familiar block of stone and turned away, but Hughes knew he was about to hyperventilate.

"Roy…please…please don't lose it right now." Hughes tried to control his temper and the mix of emotions he could no longer define. All he knew was that this wasn't the way a man was supposed to feel the day he was getting married. He took Roy's face in his, holding his head in the way he always did when he needed the other man to calm down and listen.

"I need you to get over me. You need to get over me." He planted a final kiss on Roy's forehead before pressing his own against Roy's. He could feel Roy's frozen fingers reaching around his wrists and clutching him with a tight grip, like he never  
wanted to let go, but knew he had to. "I love you Roy, but not in the same way I love Gracia. I'll always love you, so please don't be afraid, and tell me what you're feeling when you need to."

"Okay," Roy nearly sobbed, and though his hands were icy, his head was burning up. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I do want you to be happy. I promise. I know—I'm so selfish. I love you—"

And then the door opened.

"Oh—my God," said Gracia's mother.

Hughes withdrew his hands, shock fading into an icy feeling that spread relentlessly throughout his body. He felt Roy's hands leave his wrists in the most detached sort of way. "This isn't what it looks like—" he managed.

"Gracia! Charles!" She screamed down the stairs, hands shaking and over her face. "Oh my God—what are you—married my daughter—"

"Look." Roy tried his smooth voice, the voice he used with everybody else. He was suddenly poised again, neediness, clinginess thrown aside. "I do not—"

"You be quiet, you home wrecker!" She was sobbing now, her makeup running down her face and creating terrible black streaks.

"What is it, dear! What's going on?" Her gray-haired husband came huffing up the stairs, several guests close at his heels.

His mother-in-law pointed at him accusingly, leaning into the man's arms. "He—he—with the best man!"

"What have you done!" The usually genial Charles bellowed. "And I thought you were a decent man! I will never let you touch my daughter again. Keep away from her! We're getting this annulled, and, and the reception—it's over." He waved his hands at the growing mass of people behind him. "Go home! Everybody just go home!"

Hughes stared at him wordlessly, too numb to really take stock of the situation. Roy flopped into the nearest chair, head held in his hands. "All my fault…" was the only thing Hughes could register.

"Nobody is keeping away from anybody." Gracia's calm voice carried over the murmuring audience. "Nobody is going home." She stepped through them and past her father, stopping in front of Hughes and smiling a soft smile. "My husband has never, ever cheated on me, and I know that he never will." He felt her delicate hand in his, felt her squeeze it gently.

She looked at Roy, and Hughes followed her gaze. Roy looked down at the floor, shaking his head as if somehow that could explain everything. "Roy Mustang is a good man. He has fought in many battles for the Fuhrer, and has won many awards for his acts of valor. He would _never _engage in _any _questionable activities with my husband. Case closed. Over." Her smile was beautiful yet simple, and with a rush of euphoria Hughes realized that everything was going to be okay, if she was there beside him.

"And now, we are going to have a dance." She raised her eyebrows and led Hughes through the easily parted crowd. "Come on now, find a partner. I hope to get another marriage or two for you people out of this deal!"

Hughes swallowed, linking their arm and drawing her closer to his side. He took a look back at Roy, who was standing in the doorway.

His friend was smiling one of those smiles again, the ones that said: 'I'm not happy, but I if you are, then I'll be okay.' But this time, Hughes knew that he meant it.

The wedding gown swept down the stairs, a beautiful clash against the red carpet below. He put his arm around her, fingers closing in around her hips. She smiled up at him, trusting and strong. Nobody else's opinion mattered. This is the way a man was supposed to feel, he figured, when at his own wedding.


End file.
